


That Dinner You Promised

by CommanderTabbyCat



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 07:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3801583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderTabbyCat/pseuds/CommanderTabbyCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irene Adler's name hasn't been mentioned in 221b for quite some time, but one day the boys receive an unexpected invitation to dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Dinner You Promised

Irene Adler had only been mentioned once, since Sherlock’s return.   
Updating John of her not-dead status had been part of the Deal. The terms of which John had laid out when he moved back into 221B.

‘No more secrets, Sherlock. No more lies. No more of you going off to face some shady criminal mastermind and letting me think you’re just popping off to buy groceries. Ok?’  
‘Agreed.’ 

After that, he’d made a point of mentioning it when she came up in conversation. 

‘You saved her.’   
‘Well, I was the one who got her into that trouble in the first place. It seemed only fair.’  
‘Right.’ John inhaled heavily. ‘Are you in touch with her?’  
‘Not presently. But she was… of some assistance in dismantling Moriarty’s network. We worked together, for a while.’   
‘Right,’ John repeated, his face impassive.   
‘She told me to tell you. That I wasn’t dead. That was how she contacted me, the first time. Sent me a text. “Tell him you’re alive, or I’ll come after you.” ‘ Sherlock’s mouth quirked in a half-smile. ‘We haven’t been in contact for almost two years now. It was very brief.’  
‘Right.’ Says John. ‘Okay. Fine.’ John’s voice is a little higher-pitched than usual. ‘Would have appreciated it if you’d told me before, though. You know. So I didn’t have to deal with breaking the news to you.’  
Sherlock looked a little shamefaced. ‘Sorry.’ He hesitated. ‘You did tell me she was on a witness protection programme, though.’   
John almost smiled. ‘I did say that.’ He sighed. ‘Ok, then. Fair enough. As long as there’s nothing else you need to tell me about that?’  
‘Nothing,’ Sherlock said truthfully. ‘I don’t know where she is now. It’s doubtful that we’ll run into each other again.’   
‘Right.’ John smiled stiffly. ‘Ok then. Fine.’  
Sherlock looked at him, then.   
He’d often thought he was catching a glimpse of… something in John’s expression. A twitch of possessiveness, perhaps. He’d dismissed it as wishful thinking on his own part in the past, but he couldn’t help wondering, then, whether John’s rather stiff reaction could really be dismissed as something platonic.  
‘John,’ he ventured, tentatively, ‘we never really did talk about that conversation you had with her at Battersea...’

* * *

Months go by before she’s mentioned again. There are developments.   
Sherlock receives a text while they’re having breakfast.   
‘She wants to go for dinner.’  
‘Who?’  
‘Irene.’   
John tenses a little. ‘I thought you hadn’t been in contact.’  
‘We haven’t. She must have acquired my number through some diabolical means. Has some new flame she wants us to meet.’  
‘Us?’  
‘Oh yes, you’re invited too. She wants to give us the ‘’I told you so’’ lecture on our relationship developments like everyone else, I’d imagine.’   
‘I’m not sure I’d be too thrilled at the thought of an evening in her company.’   
Sherlock shrugs. ‘Well, we don’t have to.’  
There’s a pause while he studies John beside him, and then: ‘John. I know what you’re thinking, and… well, no.’   
‘No what?’  
‘We just worked together, John. There was no… fraternising.’   
‘I never suggested there was.’ Pause ‘But you were interested, weren’t you?’  
Sherlock studies the ceiling for a while before answering. ‘Not in that sense of the term. She did interest me, I won’t deny that. But it wasn’t… well. It was never anything like… like this.’

It’s true. Irene had been a fascination; a mutual fascination. She was intriguing; someone he hadn’t been able to fathom the first time around. A challenge. Someone he admired, after a fashion. What he feels for John is so fundamentally different that even to compare them is absurd.   
Of course, John interests him too. All the time. But with John, there’s none of the detachment he’d previously experienced. John frequently surprises him, throws his instincts off-kilter, makes him feel as if the doors have been flung open to a previously locked and unexplored part of himself, that his heart has been revealed and put on display for the world to see.   
Metaphorically speaking, of course.  
All this should be objectionable, yet somehow it isn’t. John makes him feel...warm. 

He’s derailed from his original train of thought as he looks over at John, leaning against the propped-up pillows beside him, and feels that familiar swell and ache in his chest. At that point the need to take John’s hand and press his lips against the knuckles takes over, and then to shift forwards and take his mouth, and for the time being, the issue of the text is left to be further discussed at a later time.


End file.
